Gridlock
by Vampire-Badger
Summary: Modern AU: Altair gets stuck in traffic. And meets someone new. Then things get a little weird.


**Behold my attempt to write without boatloads of angst**

Three hours in a completely unmoving traffic jam is enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity, and Altair is nearly ready to throttle someone. Anyone, really, he isn't feeling picky. Somewhere ahead of him, hidden behind an endless line of cars, an accident or construction or some other disaster had brought the northbound traffic to a literal standstill, and with no exit nearby, Altair is starting to lose hope of ever getting out.

On the other side of the barrier, cars going south zip by without trouble- Altair can't help scowling at some of the more obvious rubberneckers. At the moment, he can't imagine anything more annoying than watching people tearing past at seventy miles an hour while he's stuck on the road with no way out. Absolutely nothing would be more annoying than that.

Bored and thoroughly without hope that anything will happen in the near future, Altair leans back and lets his mind wander. It's the middle of August and the air on his car hasn't worked in over four years- he's sweaty and itchy all over. Mumbling a halfhearted curse, Altair rolls his window down, then leans across to open the other as well. And freezes, because there's a man standing right outside, half hidden behind a scrap of shrubbery, pissing.

He notices Altair and grins over at him, a big, shit-eating grin that says he knows what he's done and he doesn't care what Altair has to say on the subject. Altair nearly growls aloud at the sight of it because that is the last straw, he just can't take anything else today, and he gets out of his car and slams the door shut. "Seriously?" he demands. "What are you doing?"

"I don't have to explain that, do I?" the man asks, still smiling. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

Altair gives him a flat glare, studying him from head to toe without saying a word. The man looks to be in his mid twenties, a few years younger than Altair, solidly built with blonde hair down to his shoulders. He looks like nothing so much as a college frat boy that forgot to grow up.

Someone gets out of the car behind Altair's and a slightly younger man- probably in his late teens- gives an aggravated, long suffering sigh. He almost looks like a distant relative of the blonde, although he's darker, and looks like he might have some Native American ancestry somewhere in his family tree.

"I'm so sorry about him," he says, in a tone that makes it sound like he's said the words many times before. He turns back to the blonde. "Come on, Edward, let's just get back in the car."

"Nah." The man- Edward- sits down on the hood of his car. "You can if you want, but I'm sick of being stuck in there."

Altair feels pretty much the same way, but isn't in the mood to agree with anything Edward says at the moment. Instead, he turns to the teen. "Are you related to him?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Your life must be very difficult."

The boy grins for just a second. "Sometimes," he says. "I'm Connor, by the way."

"Altair."

"What kind of a name is-"

Connor elbows Edward before he can get the whole question out, and someone nearby laughs- Altair glances around to see another man, obviously listening in. Not that he seems to have much choice- he's in the lane next to Connor and Edward, on the ground next to a motorcycle. Altair winces in sympathy at the thought of how uncomfortable it must be stranded for three hours next to a bike. No wonder he's decided lying on the road is the better option. "Sorry," he says when he realizes the other three are all staring at him. "I think I'm getting sunstroke."

"Come join the party," Edward says.

"There's no party," Altair snaps. "A party is not what's happening here."

"Well if there was one, you wouldn't be invited," Edward says, but he doesn't really sound angry.

"Good," Altair mutters, but Edward obviously isn't listening.

"That guy has a grill," he says, pointing to a truck a few yards away. Sure enough, Altair can see a grill in the flatbed. "We should have a barbecue."

"You're going to have a barbecue in the middle of a highway?" Connor asks.

"Yep."

"It's not even your stuff!"

But Edward isn't listening, and within half an hour- to Altair's complete amazement- Edward has convinced the owner of the grill to pull it out and start cooking hot dogs and burgers. It is, in fact, a party. It's a surprisingly lively one, even given the low attendance. Edward's there, obviously, as is the man that owns the grill- he introduces himself as Ezio, and seems almost as enthusiastic about the whole idea as Edward. The guy with the motorcycle (Desmond) joins without complaint, and even Altair winds up on the edge of the crowd, half wishing he wasn't there and half grateful for the food and the break from the monotony.

"Does this kind of thing happen a lot?" he asks Connor.

"Yes," Connor sighs. "He has a short attention span."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, it's never boring," Connor says, as the people in the cars around them gape at the impromptu highway barbecue. "But we do end up getting kicked out of a lot of restaurants. And stores. And parking garages."

"I didn't know it was possible to get kicked out of a parking garage."

"It is if you try hard enough."

Altair decides not to ask.

"Hey!" someone yells, and Altair sees Connor stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"More family," Connor says, looking not at all happy.

Altair turns around, expecting to see someone like Edward. Instead, he sees a dark haired man, broad shouldered and with a face set into what looks like a perpetual scowl, headed toward their little party from several rows of traffic away. Altair can just barely see the man's car from where he's standing, the expensive luxury kind that Altair knows he'd never be able to afford in a hundred years, even if he'd wanted to.

He stops in front of Edward, arms crossed, radiating disapproval so strong it's almost visible.

"I should have known," he says.

"Haytham!" Edward says. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to a business conference," Haytham says. "What are _you _doing here?"

"Well, Connor and I had plans-"

"No," Haytham interrupts. "I mean _what are you doing_?"

"Oh!" Edward grins at him. "Having a barbeque."

"Of course you are," Haytham says. "Are you even capable of acting like a grown man?"

"When it suits me," Edward says, sounding completely unconcerned. "But we're stuck in the middle of a highway with no chance of getting out on our own, so I figured why not have a little fun with it?"

"Because that's not what normal people do!" Haytham yells. "Just- never mind, I don't know why I bother."

"Neither do I," Edward says.

Haytham snorts and shakes his head before storming off. He shakes his head at Connor as he passes, and Connor flinches in response, his eyes dropping to the pavement.

When he's gone, the whole atmosphere of the group goes suddenly dark. A few minutes ago it had been almost festive, but now…

"So…" Desmond wanders over to Altair and Connor, looking uncomfortable. "That guy's kind of an asshole."

"No kidding," Connor mutters. "And if he's here that probably means his entourage is here too."

"His what?" Desmond asks.

"Just a group of business contacts," Connor says. "They're all as bad as he is. Some of them are worse."

"Perfect," Desmond says. "Well, there goes the party. I think he's pretty much killed the mood."

Altair coughs, a little uncomfortable at being drawn into the conversation- but honestly, Haytham does strike him as an asshole. "I don't know if anyone would be interested," he says. "But I do have some paint guns in my trunk."

Connor seems to hesitate for a minute, then smiles. "Let's do it."

-/-

And that's how Altair finds himself in a paint gun fight with a group of men he's known for only a few hours, on a crowded highway in the middle of a traffic jam. The sheer ridiculous quality of the situation is embarrassing at first, but quickly turns fun. Altair's got more than enough paint guns for everyone, but someone on Haytham's side manages to steal the spares when they're not looking.

After that, things get really insane. The two sides are evenly matched, and it's not until the jam in front of them starts to clear that they call a truce. It's that or risk getting run over by grateful commuters eager to get home. Most of them give the group angry looks as they pass.

"That was fun," Ezio says, laughing as he hands Altair his paint gun back. "We should do this again sometime."

"Hmm," Altair says, grunting noncommittally. He highly doubts they'll ever run into each other again. But after today, nothing seems as impossible as it had this morning. "Maybe." Then he glances over at Connor. "Good luck with your family," he says.

"Thanks," Connor says, rolling his eyes. "Family dinners are going to be a lot more awkward after today."

"It'll be fun," Edward calls from his car. "Ready to go?"

"Ready," Connor says, and that's the end of it- he drives off with Edward, Desmond gets on his motorcycle, Ezio finishes putting his food away, and Altair climbs back into his car. As he sticks the key in the ignition and shifts into drive, he can't quite shake the feeling that this isn't over. That it's only the beginning.

He realizes he wouldn't mind being right.


End file.
